Weird
by Breezi
Summary: My own little Vincent story. Read to find out more.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Collateral _or any of the characters from the movie. I only own the characters that were not seen in the movie. You've heard this spew before.

**Author's Note:** This is my first attempt at a _Collateral _fiction so feedback would be very appreciated. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thanks.

**Weird**

Chapter One

Vincent stepped out of the airport into the chilled winter air of New York City, suppressing the shiver that rose up the back of his spine. He didn't like New York. It wasn't as bad as L.A., but he still didn't care for it. In all actuality, he didn't like big cities in general. People didn't trust each other in cities. Everyone was suspicious. Vincent looked as he always did. He wore an expensive gray suit that was tailored perfectly for his body. His prematurely grey hair was sleeked back and his beard was slightly scruffy. He looked like a businessman who had just gotten back from a long trip. He headed toward the row of taxis in front of the airport, hesitating only for a second before climbing into one. He asked the driver to take him to the nearest convenience store. It had just started to snow as the cab pulled to the curb near the badly lit run down building. Vincent hopped out of the car and hurried inside in search of warmth.

He wandered about the store gathering the assorted items that he needed. A pack of D batteries, a very large bottle of water, a newspaper, and a pack of gum. The cashier, a very old Arabian with horrible English, rang up everything.

"That will be $13.52." he mumbled.

Vincent pulled a large wad of hundreds from his inner jacket pocket and offered one to the old man. But the old bat shook his head fiercely.

"No one hundreds. Must be smaller." He said.

"But I don't have anything smaller." Vincent said.

"No one hundreds." The old man said.

"Look, I just want my things. Why can't you just take the money?" Vincent asked.

"No one hundreds." He repeated.

"But…"

"No…"

"I know! No one hundreds." Vincent snapped.

He turned to walk out the door but felt someone touch his elbow. He turned around to see who it was and came face to face with a petite young girl smiling brightly at him. She had strawberry red hair that was hanging just below her shoulders and pretty blue eyes. She was clad in dark tight fitting blue jeans and a blue jean jacket that was a shade lighter and a dark green scarf wrapped around her neck. She tugged him back over to the counter and looked at the cashier.

"Throw in a pack a Marlboro Lights." She said.

The cashier obeyed and then said, "$19.35"

The pretty red head handed him a twenty and he gave her a bag and her change. She dug her cigarettes out of the bag and handed it to Vincent. "Merry Christmas." She said.

"Uh, I can't really pay you back." Vincent said.

"Don't worry about," she said, "Just uh, help me get a cab without getting mugged, raped, or murdered and we'll call it square."

"That I can do." He said.

"I'm Claire." She said, offering her hand.

Vincent shook her hand and then placed it on his arm, "Vincent."

"Well, Vincent," Claire said, her light blue eyes dancing, "You're not from New York."

"No. No, I'm not." Vincent said with his charming smile.

"First visit?" she asked.

"No." Vincent said, "But, I…"

"Not a big fan, eh."

"It's not my favorite place on Earth, no."

"Here I thought everybody loved New York."

"Most New Yorkers do think that. I really just don't like big cities."

They reached the street corner and Vincent held up his hand to hail a taxi. Claire laughed, "Awe, but look at you. You can hail a cab with the best of 'em."

"I don't much care for cabs, either." Vincent said.

"Why not?" Claire asked.

"I just had a really bad experience in one." Vincent replied, absently fingering his chest where he knew a scar to be hidden beneath his shirt.

"Well, I'm gonna be late for work." She said as she slipped into the backseat of a yellow cab, "Nice to meet you. Merry Christmas, Vincent."

"Happy New Year, Claire." Vincent flashed her another heart stopping smile and shut her into the car, watching its taillights until they disappeared around the street corner. Pretty girl. Sweet, too.

Claire kept her eyes locked on Vincent until he vanished as the cab turned the corner. He was such a stunning man. He had gray hair, but his face looked so young. She would be willing to bet that he was in his late thirties, early forties tops. He had a gorgeous, slightly crooked smile and brilliant blue eyes that would stay with her for a long time to come. She figured he was some kind of businessman. He had on a nice suit, expensive looking, but he didn't seem too flashy. She had met a lot of different people in her line of work and she decided he wasn't in advertising, he was too subtle. He wasn't an accountant or a lawyer, his beard was too scruffy for that. She would've taken him for a stockbroker if he had been a local. He was probably some kind of closer that corporate thugs send in to bully other companies into selling out. He had a air of intimidation about him, like he was used to being in controlling. Totally comfortable with the idea of having people fear him. Claire took a deep breath and paid the cabby as he stopped outside the club where she worked. Vincent. Oh, she had liked him. Five minutes with the guy and he had left quite a mark.

She blinked herself back into the present and rushed to back of the club to get dressed for work. If she was late, Antonio, her boss, would kill her.

Vincent flipped on his laptop and gave the cabby the first address of the night. He would pay the driver and be done with him. He had since given up the idea of keeping the same cab all through the night. Ever since Max, he couldn't risk another night like that. That night had done its damage. He had changed.

He paid the cabby with a hundred and when he had his change handed to him, he couldn't help but think about how easy that had been. Then the image of Claire and her pretty smile flashed into his mind, unbidden.

He should have offered to buy her a drink.

'Wait!' Vincent thought, 'Where the hell did that thought come from?'

He was losing it. Plain and simple. He was losing his mind. He needed to focus on the target. Get in, get out, get it over with.

He popped his neck, straightened his jacket and ran a hand down his tie to smooth it. He hated ties. Then, he entered the building in a confident stride. No one even looked up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I am trying to maintain the flow and feel from chapter one, so please let me know how I am doing. Thanks for the criticism, it is very appreciated and has been taken into account as I hope you can tell from this next bit. Lastly, can someone explain to me the concept of a Mary Sue? I'm not quite sure I know what it is, but I would like to avoid it since nobody seems to like them. Thank you. Don't forget to tell me what you think.

Chapter Two

Vincent slipped back out onto the street. On the twenty third floor of the building behind him, through the door of the fourth office on the right, District Attorney Frank Martin was lying in a heap behind his desk. One in the head, two in the chest, no questions. Poor old Frank hadn't even seemed surprised. Vincent saw a taxi heading his and quickly put two fingers to his lips and whistled. The car slowed, then stopped and Vincent got in. Three more marks and he was on his way home.

Claire stepped out onto the stage, thankful that the spotlight was blindingly bright and she couldn't see the old perverts who were ogling her from the seats. She moved in rhythm to the music, peeling off her blouse as she made her way downstage. She winced as her eyes began to adjust to the light and the audience started to come into focus.

It wasn't the most dignified of jobs, hell, she didn't even like doing it. It was degrading and it put her on display for the entire world to see and her mother had raised her to have modesty. But it was good money and at this particular stage of her life, that was the important thing. She slinked around the stage, fighting off the overwhelming feelings of disgust every time some man tucked a bill into her garter. This was not how she imagined her life, but then, how many little girls lie in bed at night dreaming of becoming an exotic dancer? It was what she had for the time being, and she would make the best of it.

She recognized Stanly Preswick as soon as he set foot in the club. He was a large round man with thinning brown hair and an Armani suit who stank of too much cologne. He was sweaty and pervy, but he tipped well. And he liked Claire. He was one of her regulars. He stalked up to the stage waving a twenty between his fingers. Claire gave him access to her garter and saw the smile cross his shiny face.

"Daisy," he called her by her stage name, "I'll be expecting a dance later."

Claire put on her brightest, not to mention fakest smile and replied, "Anything for you, honey." She didn't mention the fact that she got off in less than twenty minutes.

Stanly toddled off to the VIP room where he would spend the evening getting drunk and having private dances and he wouldn't think of her again.

Vincent paid his driver and straightened his jacket. His eyes wondered the entrance of the club before him. This guy Preswick was a real pig. Vincent almost felt he would be doing the human race a favor by ridding the world of him. He rolled his shoulders back to relieve the tension, then strode through the doors.

The interior of the club was hazy and the music assaulted his ears. Preswick would be back in the VIP room. He wouldn't be a challenge. But instead of heading straight back for his target, his gaze made its way to the stage. Or more accurately, to the dancer onstage.

Claire.

He made his way to the side of the stage.

Claire spun on her heel and ducked her head. When she looked up, she was looking into those startling blue eyes from earlier, the ones that had branded themselves into her memory. It was Vincent.

She was caught slightly off-guard, but he merely cocked a sideways smirk at her and offered her his hand.

She hesitated for a moment, before sliding her small hand into his larger one. He held her fingers to his lips and gently kissed them, before turning and walking away from the stage at a fast pace. Claire smiled for a moment, then looked down at her hand, where he had handed her a one hundred dollar bill.

Unnoticed by the both of them was the set of beady little eyes watching the entire exchange.

It took Claire a moment to fall back into her rhythm. A gorgeous man whom she had met for maybe five minutes had just handed her a hundred dollars and walked away without a word. Why would someone do that? Why had that small kiss to her hand affected her so much?

Vincent lost his smile as he made his way back toward the VIP room. _What was she doing in a place like this?_ He couldn't help but think. She just didn't belong.

He pushed the thought of her out of his mind as he entered what was the VIP room. A smokey little back room with blue carpet, plush blue furniture, white walls and blue tinted lighting. Sitting on one of the chairs with a scotch in his hand and a blond on his lap, was his mark, Stanly Preswick.

"How ya doin', Stanly?" Vincent asked, casually taking a seat across from the large man and dainty stripper.

"Who the hell are you?" Stanly hissed. He was unhappy at the interruption.

"Name's Vincent. I thought you and I might talk a little business." Vincent said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and withdrawing a large wad of bills which he then threw onto the small coffee table which sat between them. "Get rid of the girl."

Stanly eyed the money for a moment, then smacked the blond on her bottom and said, "Cassidy, sweetheart, take a hike. Send Daisy in in half an hour, okay love."

"Sure thing, Stanly." Cassidy said as she vacated the room.

Stanly took a sip of his scotch. "So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I'm just the messenger." Vincent said, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the stage. Claire had disappeared. A tall leggy blond had taken her place onstage.

"From who?" Stanly asked.

Vincent turned his steely blue gaze back to Stanly and said quite simply, "From Curtis."

Stanly's fingers had just released the glass of alcohol when Vincent fired his trademark three shots. The silencer muffled all sound and Vincent had thirty minutes to get out of there before the next girl came in. He holstered his gun, tucked his cash back into his pocket, and walked out of the room, buttoning his jacket back up.

Maybe he could get Claire out for a drink after all. He stepped over to the bar and got the attention of the bartender, a cute little brunette with a large chest and a tight tee shirt.

"Miss, the woman who was just onstage, the red head? Is she still here somewhere?" he asked.

The girl shook her head, "Sorry, doll, she left about five minutes ago. Tony dragged her offstage early. But if you're wantin' a dance, I can arrange any number of nice girls for you."

_Tony_? Vincent thought, _Who's Tony? _"No, that's all right." He said to the bartender, "Thanks anyway."

"No problem, baby." She said and walked away to help a customer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Here's chapter three. Many thanks to SpadesJade for the Mary Sue definition. I definitely don't see Claire as a Mary Sue. I think that Vincent would get annoyed with someone like that really quickly, so have no fear.

Chapter Three

Claire was dragged into the apartment she shared with Antonio, her boss…oh yeah, and boyfriend. He had seen her little exchange with Vincent and was none too happy about it. He was convinced that if this guy had just handed her a one hundred dollar bill without even so much as a request for a lap dance, then she must have given him something worth that amount of money. They had barely stepped through the doorway when Antonio had grabbed her by the back of the neck and slammed her into the wall.

"Who the hell was that?" he screamed.

"Who?" Claire replied.

Wrong answer.

Antonio slapped her across the face, knocking her into a nearby bookshelf.

"Who?" Antonio repeated, "The guy who gave you a wad, that's who! Who is he? Are you fucking him?"

"What?" Claire exclaimed.

"Shut the fuck up! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" He raged, grabbing her by the hair and slinging her across the room.

Claire fell to the floor, praying that he was satisfied and that he would just leave her be. No such luck. He walked over to her and jerked her to her feet.

"So, are you gonna tell me what the fuck that was all about?" Antonio howled.

"Tony," Claire tried to be rational with him, "you're with me practically all the time. What the hell makes you think that I have time to run around on you?"

"Don't lie to me, bitch!" he said with a quick backhand across her cheek.

"I'm not lying!" Claire exclaimed, stumbling back into the sofa, her hand to her face. "I didn't do anything!"

They had been together for three months the first time he had hit her. It'd been about a year no and he had gotten pretty good about avoiding her face unless he was really pissed. The fact that he didn't seem to be holding back at all terrified her. He followed the backhand with a openhanded slap right on her cheekbone and temple, throwing off her equilibrium and causing her to actually fall over the couch. When she hit the floor, she began to crawl desperately away from him and toward the far corner of the room. Hadn't he had enough? Couldn't he just leave her alone, now?

"No guy just gives that much money away unless he's expecting something in return." Antonio said, taking a step toward her.

Vincent walked into the east village apartment building and made his way to the elevator. It was late. No one was in the lobby so there was no one for him to worry about. He took the elevator to the fourth floor.

As soon as he stepped off the elevator, he heard the shouting. A man and a woman. And it was coming from his target's apartment.

_Great_, he thought. He was about to walk into a messy situation and make it even messier. When he reached the door, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and turned the doorknob with it. The idiot had left his door unlocked.

However, what met Vincent's gaze when he opened that door was something that he was grossly unprepared for.

The sight was not an uncommon one. Turn on any episode of _Cops_ and the odds of seeing the exact same image was highly likely. A man, in this case Antonio Bardez, standing over a young woman on the floor nursing a bleeding nose or lip from the blow she had just received. In this case, the young woman was none other than Claire and she was nursing both a busted lip and nose. Her right eye was also red and puffy and it didn't take a genius to know that she would have a hell of a shiner in the morning.

Antonio stared at Vincent for a moment, recognized him from the club and turned back to Claire with a scowl and said, "You gave the bastard our address?"

Claire sat there looking terrified and confused. "No." she rasped, and it was the truth. She hadn't given Vincent their address and she couldn't figure out for the life of her what he was doing there.

Vincent gave a low whistle as he took in the apartment. "Nice place, you got here, Antonio." His eyes wandered over the debris of the battle that had just occurred and he commented, "Needs a little straightening up, but other than that…"

"Then what the fuck is he doing here?" Antonio screamed at Claire, "And how does he know my name? What have you been saying about me?" The question was followed by another hard slap across the face.

Vincent's jaw tightened as he watched this creep hit Claire.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you never to hit a lady?" he asked.

Antonio didn't get a chance to respond. Vincent had drawn his weapon and taken care of the matter. The first shot was fired and Claire began to scream. On reflex, the gun was next pointed at her head.

Claire stared down the barrel of the silenced semi-automatic pistol that Vincent held in his hand. Her heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat choking her scream into silence.

He should kill her. He knew he should kill her. She had just seen him shoot her boyfriend. She had seen him at the club. She seemed like a smart girl, once she heard about the murder at the club it wouldn't take her long to put two and two together. All he needed to do was put a bullet in her pretty little head and rid himself of the problem. But he couldn't.

"Okay," Vincent said, holstering his handgun. "let's go."

"W-w-what?" Claire questioned. He stepped towards her and she recoiled violently into the wall. "Don't kill me!" she pleaded.

"I'm not gonna kill you, Claire." Vincent said as he took her by the upper arms and pulled her to her feet. She didn't struggle. _Shock,_ Vincent thought, _it'll wear off._ "I'm not going to kill you," he repeated, "but I can't leave you here."

He supported her with one arm and with the other he gathered his briefcase, her coat and bag as they walked through the door. The elevator was taking to long so he led down the stairwell.

Everything began to sink into Claire's head. Vincent, the handsome man from the street and club had just walked into her apartment and shot Antonio three times. Now he was dragging her down some back alleyway toward the street. She was surprised she hadn't…no, wait….here it came. She doubled over and vomited.

Vincent never even broke stride. Throwing up was a natural human reaction to what Claire had just witnessed. He simply gave more support to her weight and kept moving, practically carrying her along.

He hailed a cab once they reached the street and quickly shoved the young woman in, and crawled in after her. He told to driver to take them to a hotel and then turned to Claire, who had pressed herself completely against the other side of the car. She was trembling. He knew it was more from fear than from the cold, but her draped her coat over her shoulders anyway.

"Here." He said, offering her his handkerchief. She just stared at it. "You can use it to wipe your mouth off." He said.

Claire hesitantly took the handkerchief from him and cleaned her face off. It was an action. Something she could focus on. Something to stop her mind from reeling. What was he going to do with her?

It took Vincent all of five seconds to check into the hotel. It wasn't a rat hole but it sure as hell wasn't the Waldorf. He gave the clerk a fake i.d. and credit card with the matching name and thanked him when he handed him the card key to the room. He followed the thanks with a look of warning when he saw the way the young man was eyeing Claire, who was standing tight lipped at his side. The boy snapped his gaze down to the counter top as Vincent led Claire away.

After taking the elevator up to the seventh floor of the hotel, Vincent opened the room for them. As soon as they were in, Vincent went to work. He closed the curtains over the windows, checked the bathroom for anything that could be used against him, and removed the phone cords and tucked them into his pocket. When all this was done, he turned to Claire, who was staring at her shoes.

"All right, listen up," he said, "I still have some work to do. YOU will stay here, you will not leave this room. You will not let anyone else into this room. You will not draw any attention of any kind to yourself. Is that understood?"

Claire just stared at him. What was she supposed to say? Yes, sir? "What do you want with me?" she breathed.

Vincent went on as though he didn't hear the question. "I won't be gone for very long and when I get back, you will be here." She didn't appear to be paying attention, so he took her by the upper arms and forced her to look him in the eyes, "Listen to me, Claire. This is very important. If you are not here when I get back, I will find you. I don't care where you go or who you think can protect you. If you leave this room, I will know and I will find you. Do you believe me?"

Claire nodded. She believed every word he said and she knew that for now, it was definitely in her best interest not to piss him off.

With that, he left. Once he was gone, Claire just sat there for a while. She was dumbfounded. Perhaps, in a state of shock. But it soon wore off and she broke down into harsh choking sobs that she was powerless to stop.

Vincent stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of the hotel. _What am I doing? Why did I bring her here? Have I lost it?_ The thoughts just kept coming, one after another, bombarding him until he couldn't see straight. He needed to get away. He needed to go and do his job and clear his head. He cast the young clerk another look of warning just in case he had something stupid in mind while he was gone, and then made his way outside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Well, there was only one review for the last chapter, and thanks for that by the way, but here's the next installment anyway. Please review, I really want to know how this story is being perceived. Well, thanks and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Four

It was the only time in his life Vincent could remember thinking that a hit had been taken care of too quickly. It was his last one of the night. Some cracked out loan shark with an attention span problem named Bartleby (yes, Bartleby) Sanchez. A rat that the world was better off without. The only problem was that now that the job was done, he had nothing to do but go back to the hotel where he had left Claire. He just wasn't sure he was ready to go back yet. He still wasn't sure why the hell he had put her there in the first place.

He had been standing on the street corner outside of Sanchez's building for about five minutes. That was longer than he had stood anywhere since he was in Special Forces. He hadn't been able to bring himself to hail a taxi yet. After another long moment, he took a deep breath and held his hand out.

_Just keep breathing,_ he told himself as the bright yellow car came to a stop in front of him. Breathing, after all, was very important.

Claire sat in the corner of the hotel room, her knees tucked under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. She had been sitting there since Vincent had left her. She had cried until she felt dehydrated and couldn't cry anymore. She wanted to know why she had been brought to this room. She wanted to know why she wasn't dead. She felt as though there were an out of control train rampaging through her head. She wanted desperately to run away, but she hadn't moved. She had barely fluttered an eyelid for fear of the repercussions if she did.

The doorknob turned and she stopped breathing.

Vincent opened the hotel room door and found Claire huddled in the corner of the room like a beaten dog. He set down the full ice bucket that he had gotten from downstairs on the bedside table near where she sat.

"Here." He said, "For your eye."

Claire looked back and forth between Vincent and the ice bucket and then withdrew from reality once again.

Vincent frowned. "If you don't ice it, the swelling is going to be ten times worse."

This earned him a glare from the pretty red head as she silently reached up and snatched a single ice cube which she then proceeded to forcefully press against her temple. The sudden sting of cold made her wince.

"Can I get you a rag?" Vincent asked.

Claire said nothing. Vincent shed his jacket after removing the phone cords from his pocket and reattaching them to the phone. Claire watched as he dialed a number and booked a first class ticket for the morning to some place that she couldn't pronounce in Brazil. At first, she felt a strong relief that he would be gone the next day, then the idea that he might want to do away with her before he left set in and she the relief turned right back into tension. Every muscle in her body tightened up and she pulled her legs even closer to her chest. She didn't ever notice how hard she had begun pressing the ice cube to her cheek.

Vincent hung up the phone and looked over to where Claire had still not moved. He fetched a washcloth from the bathroom and filled it with ice. He then shoved the rag into Claire's free hand without so much as a word.

Claire wasn't sure of what it was that suddenly made her so bold, but she went with it and spoke. "Why am I here?"

Vincent paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. Claire wasn't certain, but she thought she saw the hint of a smile. "Because I couldn't leave you behind to call the cops." He answered.

"Why didn't you just kill me?" Claire asked.

_Good question,_ Vincent thought. "Does it matter? Shouldn't you just say thank you?"

Despite what she had thought earlier about being dehydrated, she felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I just…I just don't understand what's happening. You…you seemed so nice when I met you and then, and then, and then you just…show up and…and kill Tony."

Vincent looked at her. "Are you really crying because I killed some no good loser that was smacking you around?"

"I'm not crying because of Tony!" Claire exclaimed, "Although the image of his brains flying all over my living room wall is certainly gonna stick with me for a while."

_Is she having a breakdown? _Vincent thought, _What am I supposed to say, now?_

"No. I'm crying because…I'm scared." She finished. "I'm scared of you. I'm scared of what you're gonna do to me."

For some reason, Vincent felt the need to put her mind at rest. More than likely he just wanted to shut her the hell up.

"Look," he said, sitting down in a chair on the opposite side of the room, "don't be scared. I couldn't leave you behind because I didn't want you to call the police and tip them off. I didn't want to kill you because you didn't pose an immediate threat."

That was a lie. She was, is, and probably always would be a threat.

"Calm down." Vincent went on, "I promise, nothing is going to hurt you tonight."

Claire stared at him with red puffy eyes, but she had stopped crying. "What about tomorrow?" she rasped.

"Tomorrow," Vincent replied, "I disappear and you never see me again. Now try and get some sleep."

He vanished into the bathroom. Claire stared at the closed door for the longest time, determined not to fall asleep. But, of course, her eyelids kept dropping involuntarily and it wasn't long before her head had dropped back against the wall and her breathing slowed.

Back at Claire's apartment building, Raphael Bardez stumbled down the hallway to his brother's door. He still fuzzy from shooting up earlier, but knew he was about to come down. He needed Antonio to hook him up with some more. Antonio would take care of him. He always did.

Raphael got to the door and pounded on it. "Eh, Tony! It's Raph, open up!"

There was no answer, no shuffling inside, nothing.

"Tony!" Raphael called again, "Tony, open the damn door!"

Still no answer. Raphael knew that he was home; he had already been to the club and the place was crawling with cops. Antonio would never stick around with the cops there. It wasn't a Wednesday, so he wasn't at that fat bastard Preswick's place. That left his apartment. Something wasn't right. Even through his drug induced haze, Raphael could sense that things were off. He knocked twice more, then shouldered his way through the door.

When he got into the apartment, he found the entire place in disarray. Looked like Antonio and that girl of his had had another fight. That was when he saw his brother lying in a heap in the middle of the floor.

"Tony?" he said, then he noticed the pool of blood surrounding him. "Oh, shit! Tony!" Raphael tore through the apartment, "Claire! You bitch! You kill my brother?"

He searched through the apartment until he was satisfied that Claire wasn't hiding in one of the closets somewhere.

"Don't you worry, bitch." He growled, "I'll find you."

It was 6 a.m. when Vincent's beeper went off, waking Claire up. Vincent hadn't been asleep. Fear kept Claire kept perfectly still and quiet as Vincent began dialing a number on the phone.

Vincent grew more impatient with every ring until, finally his last employer answered.

"Yeah?" Vincent said.

"I hear you had some difficulty with the job." The voice on the other end of the phone said.

"You heard wrong."

"Tell me about the girl."

"What girl?"

"The girl that you left Bardez's apartment with."

"I don't like being spied on."

"Consider it investment insurance. After that L.A. fiasco…"

"There were extenuating circumstances in L.A."

"Be that as it may, who is the girl?"

"She's no one."

"Well, I'm worried that _no one_ knows too much."

"My job is done."

"I've already got an extra thirty grand ready to transfer to your account."

"That's not even half my going rate, and you know it."

"I figure something like this should be a discount."

"If anything it should be extra."

"Just do it. We'll discuss terms later."

"No. I won't do it."

"I'll just send someone else to do it."

"What?"

"Do the job or I'll send Beaufort."

"Fine!" Vincent growled and slammed down the phone.

Claire had only been able to hear one side of the conversation, but she was pretty sure that the _girl_ being talked about was her and she didn't think they were complimenting her hair color. She was just about to start panicking, when she heard Vincent pick up the phone again. He booked another ticket to Brazil.

_What?_, Claire thought to herself, _Does he plan on taking me with him?_

Before she had the time to really start to process the situation, Vincent had her by the arms and had jerked her to her feet.

"Come on, wake up, it's time to go." He said.

"Go where?" Claire asked, acting as though she had just woken.

"Just get up." Vincent said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Sorry it's taken so long for the update. I've been busy preparing for school and all that to start back up. Anyways, here's the next chapter. Please let me know how I'm doing!

**Chapter Five**

****Claire struggled to keep up with Vincent as he dragged her down the hall and practically shoved her into the elevator. The doors closed and Vincent gingerly set down his briefcase and glanced at his wristwatch.

"All right," he said, "we have a flight in three hours. That gives gives us two hours to get your id and passport in order."

"What?" Claire gasped, "We? Passport? I don't want to leave the country!"

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Claire." Vincent replied.

"What happened to vanishing and me never seeing you again?" Claire asked.

"Plans changed."

"Why?"

"They just have."

The elevator doors opened and Vincent picked up his briefcase and, with his free hand, once again took hold of Claire's elbow. She was getting rather tired of being dragged around be men and tried to twist out of his grasp, but Vincent held tight and all her efforts were in vain.

"Will...will you at least tell me where we're going?"she asked.

"No." Vincent said cooly, "You'll find out when we get there."

"Are we going to Brazil?"

Claire would have sworn that Vincent pause, but he never faltered a step. "I just said that you'll find out when we get there." he said.

"Actually, I'll find out when you give me the plane ticket!" Claire spat, again trying to pull her arm away from him. She wasn't sure where that boldness had come from and seeing that she was in the company of a killer, she regretted the words pretty much as soon as they had left her mouth. _Why did I say that? _she thought, _Am I insane? Possibly. _

She felt Vincent's already vice-like grip tighten painfully against her flesh. He then turned abruptly and dragged her into a darkened side alley and she just knew that he was about to kill her. She all of the sudden found herself thrust roughly against the brick wall of a building with Vincent pressed against the entire length of her. She could feel every muscle in his toned body. His flat stomach, lean solid thighs, and powerful chest. His fierce eyes were burning into hers. She was ashamed to admit it, but she was strangely turned on.

"All right, listen to me, Claire," he said, his voice dangerously low, "I am not telling you where we are going, because I don't know _who _is nearby and listening to us. My last employer has made some demands of me that I am not prepared to carry out at this moment and he has his men around here somewhere. Understand?"

Claire said nothing.

"Claire, do you understand what I'm saying?" he snapped.

"What demands?" Claire asked.

Vincent looked at her for a long moment. "We should really keep moving." he finally said, taking her by the wrist and leading her out of the alley.

An hour and one terrifying back alley store later, the word store meaning a 5 x 10 room with no windows tucked underenath a fire escape, Claire had had her name changed, been photographed, and recieved a passport in record time.

Clay, the quote/unquote storekeeper, was a pale, skinny computer hacker with long greasy brown hair that hung over his horn rimmed glasses. He wore a black _Weezer _tee shirt and kept openly staring at Claire's breasts.

"Clay," Vincent said, "focus."

"Yeah!" Clay said, his attention snapping back to where Claire's new id was coming out of the printer. He made a few more modifications to the glossy piece of plastic before handing it to Claire, being sure to brush his fingers agaist hers.

"Congradulations, dear. You are now Mrs. Clarissa Debunk."

"Thanks." Claire said, resisting the urge to wipe her hand on her jeans.

Vincent threw a wad of hundreds onto the keyboard of Clay's computer before taking Claire by the arm and forcing her out the door ahead of him. "Not a word." he said to Clay threateningly as he followed her through the door. Clay greatly resembled a mouse who had just been cornered by a hungry cat as he nodded to Vincent, then shut the door. Claire stifled a laugh when she heard the sound of about five different locks latching.

"Interesting character, that one." Claire said, allowing herself a light moment. Who knew when she would get the chance to have another one?

"That's one way of putting it." Vincent said.

"So," she hesitated, "can I ask you something?"

"You can ask, but I don't garantee an answer."

"When do I find out what's going on?" she asked.

Vincent actually stopped walking and turned to look at her. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to assure her that everything would be fine and that he would take care of her, though he didn't know where the desire to take care of her had come from. He opened his mouth to speak. He had no idea what he was about to say, and he didn't get the chance to find out.

"Claire!" a voice down the street rang out, "You bitch!"

Both Vincent and Claire looked back to see a bulky man glaring at them. Claire recognized him immediately. It was Antonio's brother, Raphael. "What the..." she started, squinting to get a better look, but before she had time to focus, Vincent had pulled her out of the street. They had just entered a tiny little shoe shop when the sound of a gun shot rang through the street.

"Punelli works fast." Vincent said to himself, but Claire heard him and she made a mental note of the name. "New guy, though. At least it's not Beaufort." Both of them.

Normally, Vincent would pull out his gun and handle the situation, but there wasn't much lately that had been going normally. His main concern at present was getting Claire out of there and not being fingered by any witnesses so that they could make it through the airport without any problems. Keeping a tight grip on Claire's hand, he dragged her through the store and through a back door that lead to a storage room. He shoved Claire toward the back of that room and knocked over a stack of large cardboard boxes to block the entrance.

"Did he just shoot at us?" Claire asked, "On a crowded street?"

Through the door at the back of the storage room, they found themself in an extremely narrow hallway, in which Vincent sped his pace to a run with Claire stumbling after him. The gunman was more than likely in the store by that point, which meant they had to move fast. He reached behind him and grabbed Claire by the hand once more. She had to keep up. He spotted the large metal door at the end of the hall and kicked his speed up yet another notch. Once they reached it, he kicked it open and dragged Claire out into yet another side alleyway. Her thighs were beginning to burn and cramp and her breathing was becoming more and more difficult, and Vincent was still running as though he could go for another mile without even breaking a sweat. But thankfully, before Claire knew what had happened, they had made a sharp turn and were emerging from the dark path out into the sunlit street. It seemed like one fluid motion that Vincent had hailed a taxi and thrown Claire inside of it.

"JFK." Vincent told the driver and they were off. He looked out the back window just in time to see the stocky gunman come huffing out of the alley, but he was too late. They were already lost in a sea of yellow cabs. Vincent let out a breath and then relaxed...or, relaxed as much as he ever relaxed.

Claire studied him for a long minute before deciding to speak. "Who's Punelli?"

Vincent looked at her quickly, and the coldness that was suddenly in his eyes made her blood want to freeze in her veins. "What?"

"I...I heard you say the name." she added carefully.

Vincent looked to the cabby, who seemed about as likely to speak English as a Vietnamese three year old, then returned his gaze to Claire. "Mr. Punelli was my last employer and that back there, I assume, was one of his men."

"No it wasn't." Claire almost laughed.

Vincent looked at her questioningly. He did not like not knowing what was going on.

"That was Raphael." Claire informed, "Tony's idiot brother."

"Bardez's brother?"

"Yeah. The big reject probably thinks that I'm the one who..." she paused and cast a glance at the driver, then looked back to Vincent, who nodded to indicate that he understood. "So...Punelli hired you to..."

Vincent's gaze was boring into hers and she bagen to feel very small. "I think that you've probably figured that out already."

"So...you're a...you...you do...what I think you do?"

"Yes."

"And Beaufort?"

Vincent smiled. She certainly did know how to pay attention, didn't she. "He's like me."

"And Punelli is going to send him after you because?"

"Not me, Claire." he said, "You."

That word had the same impact as a knife would in her stomach. She wanted to cry and throw up all at once. "Me?" she asked and it all became so painfully clear. "The demand?"

Vincent nodded. Interestingly, Claire had the uncontrollable urge to laugh. The irony of the situation was almost to beautiful to handle. The only man who wasn't trying to kill her...was the hit man.

They pulled into the airport. Claire was still reeling from the discovery of her impending doom as Vincent paid the driver and pulled her out of the car. "Um, Vincent?" Claire said and he paused mid-step to look at her. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I really need a cigarette." She used all of her might and dragged him into the lounge bar.

Vincent's brow furrowed. "Do you know how bad smoking is for you?"

"Probably not as bad as bullets flying at my head." Claire snapped, pulling her pack of Marlboro lights out of her bag and lighting one up. "So..." she began over a puff of smoke and rubbed at her eyes with one hand, "please, tell me what's going on."

Vincent thought about doing just that, when the waiter came over to their table, so instead he responded to him. "I'll have a scotch neat."

_Yes! _Claire's mind screamed, _Hard alcohol! Just what the doctor ordered! _"I'll have mine of the rocks." she told the waiter, who nodded before he wandered away. "Okay," she started again as soon as the waiter was out of earshot, "I've known you for about twenty-four hours and my life has turned completely inside out, so I would appreciate a little perspective on the situation at hand."

"I don't know." Vincent said, and it was almost true...and he really hated that fact.

"Yeah, right." Claire responded.

"Okay, listen," Vincent started as the waiter sat down their drinks and left, "you've figured out what I do, so let me tell you how it works. I don't get on to personal term with my employers and they don't get on personal terms with me. They contact me through email and _if _I take the job, I give them a pager number that they can reach me at. I don't know why they pick the targets they pick and I don't care." Claire looked like she was near tears. Her chin quivered for a moment, but he could tell that she was working hard at fighting off the sobs. She grabbed her drink and downed it. "However...I have been doing this for a long time and after a while, you can start to figure these things out."

He had Claire's interest. "Oh?" she said.

"Yeah," Vincent added, not really sure why he was telling all this, "This job...your boyfriend...it had the particular stink of a drug deal gone bad."

Claire reached over, grabbed Vincent's drink and took a sip. "Can't say that I'm really suprised." Then, her eyes locked with his, "So, why you helpin' me?"

Vincent gave one loud humorless chuckle and snatched his drink back from her and turned it up. "That one, I really don't know the answer to."

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all of you that have reviewed so far, keep em coming! But, now I have kind of a poll I would like to take. I think I'm getting pretty good at this whole multi-tasking thing, and I'm going to start two more fanfics shortly. You see, I have recently developed an infatuation with the brilliant actor Cillian Murphy, and really want to do a story about him. I've got one in the works about his character from _Cold Mountain _and will probably do one on _Red Eye _if I can ever get to the theater to see it. But I want to do one where I have more to go than a two minute scene, so I was hoping for some opinions. Which of these movies do you think would be best?

**A) **_28 Days Later_

**B) **_The Way We Live Now _(Don't know how many people have seen that one)

**C) **_Batman Begins_

Let me know what you think! Thanks again, C-ya!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

They changed planes in Florida and the sun had already set by the time they landed in Florianopolis on the coast of Brazil. Claire climbed off the plane into the heat and humidity. The heavy, muggy air pressed down on her and she struggled to breathe, her mind still reeling from watching Vincent go through airport security. She didn't think it would have been possible, but he managed to make himself invisible. He blended one hundred percent into the crowd, one hand casually engulfing her own and his free hand still holding on dearly to his briefcase. He had disappeared momentarily into the bathroom, leaving her alone for a short while. Oddly enough, the idea of escape never even occurred to her. She knew that she would be safer with him than she would be out there with Raphael's big stupid ass chasing after her. He returned, and she noticed the briefcase had disappeared. He grabbed her hand and led her on toward security. She didn't ask…she didn't want to know. From that point on, things had been smooth sailing. They made it through every security checkpoint with absolutely no problems whatsoever and all of the sudden…BAM…Claire was in Brazil.

They stepped out of the airport and Claire froze in her tracks. Her eyes scanned the world that Vincent had brought her to. The word beautiful could barely scratch the surface of the description of her surroundings. She had always wanted to travel, but could never afford it and then Antonio just wouldn't allow it. Now, here she was…even though it wasn't the way she would have chosen to be her first experience abroad.

"Whoa." She said, without even realizing that she had spoken out loud.

"What is it?" Vincent asked, looking up from his wrist watch.

"This place…it's amazing." She said.

Vincent looked around as though the thought had never crossed his mind before she mentioned it and nodded, "Yeah, I guess it is."

"You guess it is?" Claire said, fighting off the urge to roll her eyes, "How can you look around here and not have your breath just…taken away?"

"I guess I'm just not a sentimental type of guy." He said. But as he looked at her, the way her face was as she stared at the landscape around her, he felt a sort of awe. Not for Florianopolis, he'd been there a million times, he was used to it…but for how childlike she seemed at that moment. She was by no means innocent or pure or even naïve. Quite the contrary, she was cynical and jaded and had seen more than a woman her age should…but at that moment, in the middle of that beautiful city, none of it mattered. She had regressed back to childhood to a time when she could find the brilliance in anything. He liked the way she looked when all of her problems disappeared. He found himself just staring at her…and smiling. He snapped himself out of it and grabbed her hand. "Time to go." He said, leading her to the nearby garage.

"You just don't appreciate the finer things in life." Claire said her voice light and airy. Something about this place had put her in a better mood than she had been in for a long, long time. She actually felt like skipping…and she didn't skip…even when she was a kid, she didn't skip.

"Not true." Vincent said, pulling a set of keys from his pants pocket, "Nothin' better than a glass of scotch and some jazz playing in the background. You can't beat that."

"Oh. And what's so great about jazz?" Claire asked.

Vincent drew to a halt and looked at her. His mouth angled up at one corner and a look of deep reverence floated across his handsome face. "The fact that it's spontaneous. Unplanned. Improvised."

Claire couldn't keep herself from smiling. Why was it that jazz fans always seemed so fanatical about their music? She couldn't think of ever having met one that wasn't. It was funny. In that moment when he was talking about jazz, he almost seemed…normal.

He shook himself out of his little self-induced trance and pushed the unlock button on his key ring. Claire's eyes widened when she saw that it was a silver Mercedes SUV that chirped at them in response to the button. She looked back at Vincent, who was now fully grinning at her. "Do Mercedes count as a finer thing of life…because I do admit to a weakness for them."

"Really? I saw you as more of a Jaguar type." Claire quipped as she hopped up into the passenger seat.

"Nobody needs that kind of speed unless they're in Germany."

"So, let me get this straight…you live here?" Claire asked.

"Well," Vincent paused, "I have a house here. I also have houses in three other countries and I try not to stay at any one of them for too long."

Claire felt a knot of disgust churn in her stomach. "Is business that good?"

Vincent gave a short laugh as he maneuvered the SUV out onto the highway. "How would you like me to answer that?"

"Don't." Claire said simply.

They drove for a while in silence, except for the Chet Baker CD that Vincent was playing. Claire was just staring out the open window, admiring the vast array of greenery along the side of the road. Florianopolis was the best of both worlds. There was a white sandy beach on the one side and what could easily be mistaken for a jungle on the other. In her wildest dreams, Claire could never have imagined such a place…and Vincent lived here on a regular basis. Then, the Mercedes turned onto a narrow road that was surrounded by tropical trees and plants that raised so high, you couldn't see the moon. The paved road soon evolved into nothing more than a winding gravel path with so many bumps that the CD skipped. The thought occurred to her that she was now on her way to a secluded area of a foreign country with a man she new to be a contract killer. Everything in her head the was logical told her that this was a bad idea, but why would he go through the trouble of dragging her out of the country just to kill her. She had watched him, if he had wanted her dead she would have already been dead and probably lying undiscovered under Clay's fire escape. She cast a glance at Vincent. His face was serious as he focused on the road in front of him, making Claire smile. But it was a sad smile that didn't reach her eyes. So much had happened to her in her life. So many things had gone so terribly wrong, so why should this be any different. Thing was, it felt different. It felt right. She realized that she was smiling because being with Vincent right then at that moment…felt safe.

The top line of the trees opened up and Claire found that the sky was so clear, she could see every star in the heavens. When she brought her gaze back down, she saw the small but elegant little house. It had white paneling, a brown roof, and a white railed porch that wrapped all the way around it. It had at least a dozen windows, which was a lot considering the size of the house. Vincent parked in front of the house and Claire had the door open and was stepping out before he had shut off the ignition. She wanted a better look at this place. As she walked toward the house itself, she found that it was hidden by the trees on three sides and the back yard was the beach.

_Gotta give the man credit, _she thought, _he sure knows how to pick his real estate._ She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck to wipe away the sweat that had collected there. She had shed her coat at the airport, but she was still dressed for New York winter and had not been expecting to be dragged so close to the equator. She had started to wander around the house to the beach. She wanted to see the clear blue water, but was stopped by Vincent's voice.

"Claire." He called, "Let's go inside."

Claire looked back at him for a long moment. The idea of running to the beach crossed through her mind. Instead, she nodded and joined Vincent on the porch.

Vincent opened the door and let Claire walk in ahead of him. He had never had anyone over to his home before…any of them…it was a strange feeling. He wouldn't have expected it to affect him so much, but seeing her walking over the hardwood floors, into the living room, her fingers brushing over the cushions of his sofa, did something to him. He had never been a man of many material wants, so his place was fairly simple. He had a comfortable living room with an amazing stereo system. He wasn't one for TV so he didn't own one. Claire turned and looked at him and her pretty eyes seemed to sparkle. She seemed so out of place in his home, though he figured anyone would have seemed out of place in his home other than himself.

"Um," he began, "I'll take you in the morning to get some clothes."

"Yes," Claire said, "preferably warm weather clothes. Is it always this hot here?"

"You think this is hot? No, Claire. This is the cool weather."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all."

"So," Claire started, feeling that they had avoided the subject for long enough, "what's gonna happen to me?"

Vincent crossed his arms and looked down at his feet. _What am I going to do with her_? He thought, _Can't I just keep her here_? He looked back up at her and felt himself smile. She was just standing there, staring at him and…as out of place as she seemed, she still somehow just…fit.

**Author's Note: **I know that it has been an extremely long time since I updated this story, but I mean what I say when I say that I will finish every story that I start. Let me know what you think...


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